Chapter 187: The Fishing Rod Duel

Lott felt a surge of frustration as he nearly vomited blood, observing the guards in the castle. Their expressions were filled with suspicion, and their eyes were unsettling. "I did what my majesty ordered! There's nothing wrong! Why do the others look at me like this?" The guard was perplexed and anxious.

Bedivere, sensing the guard's distress, hurriedly spoke up. "Quickly, remove the decorations from that spear! Otherwise, we won't be able to use them!" He aimed to restore the spears to their original state, hoping to prepare for the impending conflict.

Suddenly, a loud, continuous howling echoed through the air—like wolves or lions calling their kin. Morgan and the others exchanged worried glances. The enemy was approaching. A shared thought flickered in their minds: This is bad!

Interestingly, the guard seemed oddly pleased. "Your Majesty, this happens to be a new weapon!" he exclaimed, proudly presenting a weapon to Lott.

"Shut up!" Lott snapped back, both angry and anxious. "This fishing rod is just for fishing, you know?"

"What!?" The guard's face fell, confusion evident in his trembling voice. "Then, Your Majesty, have I made a mistake?"

"Yes," Bedivere and the others confirmed, nodding in unison.

The guard's face went pale. He wasn't afraid of death, but if the war was lost because of his blunder, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

As the howling grew louder, they finally saw their adversaries. The attackers were the tooth clan fairies—towering figures, covered in hair, and undeniably stronger than ordinary folk. Lott and Morgan, seasoned fighters, glanced at their number: about five thousand. The sheer strength of the Tooth clan's warriors made the situation daunting.

At that moment, the patriarch of the tooth clan stepped forward. He wore an elegant noble's outfit, exuding a certain grace, though his wolf-like head and body starkly contrasted with his attire. Morgan and Lott couldn't help but think of a saying: "The monkey is crowned." They exchanged disdainful looks.

If they couldn't resolve the situation with an all-out war, capturing the patriarch first would be the next step. Victory wouldn't be evident, but it was a start. The tooth clan patriarch, buoyed by confidence, called out, "You've been surrounded, King Lott! I give you the chance to fight me fairly!"

Morgan, still uneasy, retorted, "What? Don't go!" But Lott reassured her with a gentle wave. "It's okay, trust me."

He slung the fishing rod over his shoulder, prompting Morgan to ask, "Lott, what are you doing with that? It looks ridiculous!"

Lott's eyes communicated a silent strategy. This is to paralyze the enemy, and then I'll look for a chance to use Vasilius to subdue the patriarch. Morgan nodded in understanding.

As Lott descended from the wall, he patted the guard on the shoulder, who still bore a worried expression. "I was just joking about the weapon. It'll be useful later, trust me!" He concealed his thoughts, knowing that if the weapon failed, it would be due to the enemy's overwhelming strength.

Lott landed directly opposite the patriarch, who couldn't help but laugh at the oddity of Lott's weapon. "What are you doing? Are you here to amuse us? Even if you're trying to be funny, Baobhan Sith has already chosen to ally with you. She must not be very skilled."

Baobhan Sith, hearing this, clenched her fists in anger. How could she have surrendered to someone like him? She wanted to protest, but Morgan stopped her. "You don't need to say more. Regardless of your past, to the other fairies, it looks like you've allied with us. Let's just focus on watching Lott's battle!"

"Yes," Baobhan Sith agreed, her eyes still fixed on the patriarch. "Lott, the patriarch is strong, but his skills are lacking. Use that to your advantage!"

"Okay, I get it!" Lott responded, feeling a surge of confidence.

The patriarch of the tooth clan was enraged by Baobhan Sith's comment. "You traitor!" he shouted, charging at Lott.

Lott felt a thrill at the incoming challenge. I'm not afraid of your anger. You're no Olaf. Anger only reveals your weaknesses. He readied himself as the patriarch lunged, instinctively flicking his spear.

The fishing net unfurled, ensnaring the patriarch. Wait a minute... Lott thought, realizing the weapon was not as useless as it seemed. It was ideal for individual confrontations, though this was the clan chief he faced—his strength wouldn't be insignificant.

The patriarch struggled against the fishing net, but as he tore it apart, Lott swiftly stabbed forward with his spear, aiming for the clan chief's chest. The patriarch barely managed to dodge, their faces mere centimetres apart, both staring fiercely at each other.

In a moment of fury, the patriarch charged again. However, as he pressed forward, he suddenly felt something amiss. A crimson hue appeared on his arms and chest, and he looked down to see that Lott had deftly looped the fishing line around him.

"Okay, you did well this time!" Lott called to the pale-faced guard above the wall. "If we win, you'll be credited for it!" Then he shouted to his comrades, "Put on this weapon and let's chase after the tooth clan!"

"You will die first!" the patriarch roared, realizing how dangerous Lott's tactics could be. Even if his attacks were not lethal, the damage to his clansmen would be substantial.

 As he charged once more, Lott shook his head slightly, a sympathetic expression crossing his face. 

But Lott, shaking his head slightly, smiled sympathetically. "You've already lost."